Oooh, Deb, that's gorgeous and painful. And a little bit like the one I have brewing.

All of these are wonderful -- Liese, and Sail, and juliana's spring to mind immediately.

Comfort Food

I probably gained ten pounds that winter.

Your stomach simply wasn’t working, the doctors said – at first, they thought to remove it, feed you through a tube for the rest of your life, which likely wouldn’t be more than a couple of years.

You were shrinking before our eyes. My mother, the round, soft, ample woman of my childhood, was all raw bones, shockingly angular, uncomfortably brittle.

I ate for you. Cake, chips, pasta, ice cream, the warm, golden brioche from the bakery near school. There wasn’t enough food in the world to fill the hole you threatened to leave.

You are all depressing the hell out of me.

I will come up with something about cake...just getting a slow start today, Dana.

erikaj speaks of cake, and I make it appear... this is completely true, and hopefully a little less depressing for everyone.

I had never been this sick before. We thought it was the flu, but on the third day I was weeping in pain. From doctor, to emergency room, to hospital bed. Viral pneumonia, and it was getting steadily worse. Third day, and I’m in an oxygen tent, heavily medicated, and scarcely observed. A doctor finally checks me, and within the hour I’m being transferred to Children’s Hospital. It was my thirteenth birthday.

When I arrived, there was a whole birthday cake, with my name on it, in my room waiting for me. Two days later, when I could eat, I savored every bite of it.

Hee. Sorry about that, Dana. Here's a sweet one.

partnership

Sixteen years old and away from home for the first time. Curled miserably in a blanket on the dorm lobby couch, she cried. He tucked her in, brought her Sprite and crackers, brushed a cool palm across her brow. "Strep, they said. Here, take your pills." Salt savory on her tongue.

Fourteen years later and worn by months of sickness. Curled miserably in a quilt on their living room couch, he closed his eyes. She tucked him in, brought him Sprite and crackers, smoothed his brow. "Strep, they said. Your shot will kick in soon." Bubbles cool in his throat.

You are all depressing the hell out of me.

looking at Dana's tagline

So write something perky, ma'am.

Anything food related would lead to New Orleans, which wouldn't be too perky.

I keep thinking about changing my tagline, but things keep sucking.

Halvah

Honey, sugar, sesame seed paste - usually something even a sweet lover like me ate in very small quanties. But days at the beach were different. Run along the sand for hours, swim along the shore for what seemed like miles. Play volleyball. By the time all that was finished a giant chunk hit in a pure rush of pleasure and returning energy.

I keep thinking about changing my tagline, but things keep sucking.

And there's a tagline, right there.

But yeah, point taken and nodded at, about the food. I don't understand the whole food as comfort thing, as stated in my first drabble: when I eat, it's for entirely different reasons. So any comfort was for another person, and that didn't work.

Not cheerful, no. But there you are. Shit keeps happening.